Epiphany/Book One/Chapter 2
Obedience is the second chapter of Epiphany: Book One. The full chapter was released on October 2, 2015. Synopsis The Bolio brothers begin to fear that their mother is hiding a secret from them. Elsewhere, Declan comes clean to Gwen about his dark past while Gwen also has a secret of her own to acknowledge. Appearances *Gray Bolio *Robin Haggerty *Dylan Bolio *Enid Bolio *Liz Burke *Gwen Temple *Declan Radke Obedience “Listen to me, your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest — thick canopies of maple trees and sweet scented wildflowers sprouting in the underwood. You will grow back, over and over, no matter how badly you are devastated.” ― Beau Tamlin The congregation of Christ Community Church sat in the large sanctuary for a sermon. The sanctuary was a large auditorium filled with about two hundred plush seats. The congregation here was never very large, but now it was especially not so. About seventy-five to eighty people lived inside the church’s walls now. Many stayed in this very room, sleeping with pillows and blankets on the chairs or even on the floor. No, it wasn’t Sunday, but as of the week prior to this particular service, the pastors announced that they would be holding daily services in the morning and prayer meetings at night. They would be optional, of course, but recommended for families to attend all of these. Gray in particular remembered Pastor Robin stressing how important it was to stay strong in the Holy Spirit during times like these, and Gray did not take his words lightly. Robin Haggerty was the head pastor of the church. His parents and grandparents attended the church, so he was raised in a very Godly family. He was a forty-something, thin black man with a commanding voice. People told him from a young age that he’d be a preacher – Gray had heard the story countless times – and now he was telling Gray the very same thing. It was so exciting to him. He dreamt of ministering to people in the same way his pastors could, but he was just so shy. He didn’t understand how he of all people would be able to minister to people he didn’t know. But Pastor Robin was persistent: God gives us gifts and unique talents for a reason. “Maybe you aren’t the most well-spoken,” Pastor Robin had told Gray during one of their frequent one-on-one study sessions. “But did you ever think that God wants you to minister to people in another way? You don’t have to stand at a pulpit with fancy metaphors and testimonies to minister, Gray. Church isn’t a building, church is every group, every function, and every person that you bring Jesus to.” It’s everywhere, Gray always thought that to himself. What a marvelous idea. The idea that church could be anywhere you were, as long as you had a heart and a mission and a passion for God and for people… that excited him and gave him so much passion and fuel to find ways to reach people. He thought that maybe he could write a book or something. A long-winded adventure story that spoke of how awesome Jesus is, something that would reach out to audiences and maybe touch a few hearts in the process. While Pastor Robin was giving his sermon and Gray was taking notes, he felt himself trailing away in thought about all of these big plans he had for the future and what ways he can touch people and improve himself in new ways. But every time he prayed, he felt an echo of a voice in his head, telling him, “Speak up.” It was a calling to let go and not be afraid, but Gray easily dismissed it as just his consciousness trying to fight with him. He, admittedly, was his own worst enemy. He snapped back into reality quickly, though, and just in time, too. “…My first mission trip was to Haiti,” he heard Pastor Robin saying. “And I remember getting down on my knees. I prayed to Him, I said, ‘Lord, please provide.’ He progressively took us, to the point where my family all wanted something different. Kerry wanted to go to Africa, my wife and my other two daughters wanted to go to Haiti… We had to believe that God would provide for even more. If I wouldn’t have obeyed way back then, twenty years ago, and progressed with God, then the obedience I’m being tested to show now would be insurmountable for me. Now I’m gonna tell you about Abraham. The first thing he was asked to do was to leave his family, and to follow God’s plan, with no real direction in place. The first time you leave your family, it’s hard. I remember the first time I left my family for a trip… But God progressed me. If you follow the life of Abraham, God is progressively taking him to a spot where he asks Abraham to sacrifice his son. It was when Abraham was ready, and God knew it, He requested his son’s life. Abraham called his son “a child of promise”. He had faith that if he truly had promise, that God would raise him from the dead and fulfill that potential. He went up that hill. Once God saw that Abraham was willing, the ram was in the bush. The ram he was allowed to sacrifice in place of his son. It was a test of obedience.” Gray was glued to Pastor Robin for the remainder of service; he brought up how obedience would be consistently tested during times like these. Gray kept putting his face in his notepad to write down key things from the sermon. He always had to go up to Pastor Robin after service and complete his notes, because Gray was too particular on his penmanship to keep up with the fast-paced services. Pastor Robin was described often as being extremely quick and heavy-handed in his speech, his words flew at his congregation like bullets. He always joked that this was how he’d keep people awake. After service wrapped up, Gray went to find Pastor Robin in the hallway. But he couldn’t. He was nowhere to be found. Wandering in the direction of the offices in the building, Gray knocked his fist against Pastor Robin’s door. He heard talking from inside the room. He was already meeting with someone? Gray couldn’t help but wonder who, or why. When the door finally opened, he saw Pastor Robin’s face drop. He turned to look behind him, and Gray, instinctively and infectiously curious, stood on his tippy-toes to look behind Robin to see who he was addressing. “Mom?!” Gray exclaimed, seeing his mother Enid sitting at Pastor Robin’s desk with her face red and puffy. She had obviously been crying. “He deserves to know, Enid,” Robin’s calming voice said. She just nodded quickly. “Find your brother, and bring him here,” Robin commanded. “You both should hear this.” ---- Dylan Bolio tapped his feet as he sat in the guest’s chair on the opposite side of Pastor Liz’s desk. He had a Journey song stuck in his head. “Ask the Lonely”. Dylan was a huge fan of eighties music. He grew up listening to it, and he never thought it was weird or embarrassing when his dad would drop him off at school blasting old-school music through the speakers in the car. Most kids would. But Dylan thought it was cool. That was back when music was real and had meaning. There were a few members of the church who were really against the kinds of music Dylan enjoyed – he didn’t care though. He wasn’t there to please any of them. He didn’t see how the music that was pleasing to his ears, or the types of movies he watched, or games he played, was offensive to God. He had been talked to many times about the movies he’d watch – he loved horror. Particularly any sort of supernatural movies, which was a big blurry area in the church. He wasn’t acting out anything described in the music. The movies didn’t have demons living inside of them. Dylan just felt that the paranoia surrounding these things was unnecessary. It was entertainment for him. He found a thrill in being scared by these films, and did not think that the hoopla surrounding them was necessary. “What’s in your head?” Pastor Liz asked Dylan from her place at her desk. “Journey,” he responded with a smile. He sang along to the song, “''When you’re feelin’ love’s unfair, you just ask the lonely.”'' “Did I ever tell you that my first concert was Journey?” “No! Are you serious? Their guitar riffs are absolutely insane!” “Imagine them live,” Liz said with a big smile. “They were great. So great. I went to see them three times. Fantastic show every time.” “I wish I could have,” Dylan lamented. “I’m so jealous!” It was so cool for Dylan to see that the pastors here were so normal, for the most part. Sure, Liz talked to him about the stuff he watched and filled his brain with, which he understood, but she listened to secular music too. And Pastor Robin is a huge R&B, old school jazz fan. Dylan thought it was a good thing to listen to music outside of Christian artists. It gives such an incredible array of diversity to the sounds, and so much inspiration for his own music. As a guitarist, he loved to just sit down and listen to each and every song and just take it all in. He thought it was strange that so many people just took in lyrics. Music is way more than just the words being sung. Dylan had to examine, and feel, every little thing. Liz understood that more than anyone else, Dylan had so many conversations with her about it. “What did you want to talk about?” Liz asked, cutting straight to the point. Dylan smiled at her. “I think I’ve gotten my sign,” he said. “I prayed on it last night and it became apparent to me that God wants me to take this path. I want to help you lead youth group.” “That’s great news,” Liz said. “As a leader, you’re going to be thrown into some uncomfortable situations, and I’m proud of you for wanting to face these situations head-on. And I know just the thing you need to do first.” “Oh?” Dylan piped, it wasn’t meant to be an audible expression. It definitely just jumped out of him. Oh well. Too late to take back now. “I want to take you to pray over Dominic. He’s getting worse. But we know our God is stronger than any sickness. Right?” “Right,” Dylan answered. He knew exactly why Pastor Liz was doing this. Dylan always expressed his discomfort in audibly praying over others. It was a flaw he should have expected her to address. He was nervous, but it was a different kind of nervous than what he was used to it. It was excitement. Excitement to dive into something big, something new, something that would free him of these invisible chains that keep him uncomfortable. Maybe this would help it become more natural-feeling for him to pray over others. He hoped so. Dylan and Pastor Liz entered the emptied office that was being used as a mini-infirmary for Dominic. The boy lay in his bed, covered in blankets. He was sleeping, but he was sweaty. Dylan saw it dripping from his forehead, and his blankets were soaked. Instantly, Liz pulled the blankets from him, her frown so deep it burrowed an imprint into her forehead. In turn, she felt his with her palm. “He’s so warm,” she murmured. Her voice was quivering, pained. She closed her eyes, and took in a deep and labored breath. “Lead the way, Dyl.” Dylan just stared down at Dominic, this boy he barely knew, a boy who was relatively new to the church but had befriended Gray quickly. It made him think of how much he was starting to ignore Gray, so much so that he didn’t even know his own brother’s close friend very well. As these thoughts flooded Dylan’s head, he began to feel lost in them. Struggling with words, Dylan began, “Um, thank you Lord for bringing us all here. I mean, it’s not great that we’re in this situation. Uhh, but I’m just really happy that we’re here and not somewhere else. We didn’t separate. That’s the good news. Uh, well, even with so much going on, we’re all here together and we’re making the best of it. That’s only because of you. Dominic is really sick. We can see that. We, um, we’re not sure what’s happening, or why, but we can’t try wrapping our heads around it because your plan is so much bigger and we’ll never, uh, we’ll never really understand it. No matter how much we put into – I mean, no matter how much we try to understand, it’ll just never make any sense. I know you have a reason for all of this. I know you are working through all of us right now. Even Dominic. You will bring him the strength he needs to let this pass. Thank you Jesus. Uhhh. Amen.” As Pastor Liz’s eyes opened and she whispered, “Amen”, Dylan just gave her a shrug. He felt that it was the most painfully awkward prayer he’d ever heard, but at least he said it. He felt a burst of energy in that satisfaction; he prayed over someone. This was a personal issue he’s had for a while, and so to face it like that – it felt really good. And he could tell just by looking at Pastor Liz’s expression, that she was proud of him too. With the clicking of the knob and the creaky swing of the door, the room’s peaceful yet eerie silence was disturbed as Gray entered the room. Both of them were alert and startled thanks to his presence. Dylan announced irritably, “Geez, Gray, you scared me…” “Sorry,” Gray shuffled uncomfortably at the door. “But Pastor Robin wanted me to find you and bring you to his office. He has something to show us. It has to do with mom, I think.” Pastor Liz nodded to Dylan, an approving nod that signaled to him that it was okay to leave. Dylan got up, and followed Gray down the hallway. He struggled to catch up to his younger sibling. “Slow down, you’re moving so fast,” Dylan grumbled. “What is even going on--?!” “Mom was crying,” Gray stammered. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m scared.” “You’re scared and you don’t know what’s going on? That doesn’t even make sense.” “Of course it makes sense. We’re scared of what we don’t know. It’s just how our brains work.” “You say that like there’s scientific evidence.” “I don’t know if there is or isn’t, and I couldn’t care less either way. It’s just a fact. I feel it, so it’s fact. Reality is about what is real, no matter if it’s proven or not. That’s why we go to church right? Why we believe in God?” “You’re rambling again, Gray.” “Sorry.” “Why are you so worked up? Mom’s been crying a lot lately.” This sounded harsh, Dylan knew that as soon as he said it. He felt like biting his tongue. He’d be better off at this point. He had a knack for saying things that he regretted later. Either his tongue moved too often ahead of his brain, or his brain was moving too quickly for his tongue to gather words coherently – like during prayer. His brain and his tongue never were good teammates. Communication just wasn’t Dylan’s strong suit in this sense. But Dylan did feel this was the truth. Their mother had cried a lot since all of this went down. So many people have. But Dylan hadn’t remembered crying, and in the same sense, he couldn’t remember a day in these past two months that their mother hadn’t. It just felt so normal to him at this point so he barely felt a thing when Gray mentioned this. There had to be more to it. “Hey,” Gray snapped, defensively. He was always very protective over their mother, especially when Dylan would tease her. “She can cry all she wants. She misses dad.” “I’m just saying,” Dylan continued. “She’s cried every day for the past two months. That can’t be what’s bothering you anymore. We’ve talked through this. What is it, really? Do you think it’s about dad? Is that why you brought him up?” “Maybe,” Gray mumbled as they turned a sharp left corner to the hallway that consisted of the pastors’ offices. It was. Dylan could see it in his face when he brought this up. He didn’t know what Gray had overheard, or what he saw, but bringing up their father in this situation instantly made Dylan uncomfortable, and nervous, too. There was a fear here in not knowing what to expect. ---- In an instantaneous reaction, Gwen whipped her gun from her belt and aimed it square at Declan’s chest. Murder? How could he just announce that? Like I’d just let it slide, she thought to herself. His arms went up defensively. This was all happening so fast, Gwen didn’t even know what she planned to do here, but she was happy that grabbing for her gun had become such an instinctive reaction. “How does one ‘kind of’ murder somebody?” Gwen asked quickly. “You either did it or you didn’t.” “Whoa, whoa, relax,” Declan said. “Okay, I did it. I murdered someone. I said ‘kind of’ because it, you know, it has a more casual, less threatening impact when you say it, okay?!” “It doesn’t matter how you say it,” Gwen spat. “Admitting to murder isn’t glamorous no matter how you dress it up, friend.” “I admitted it because I didn’t want it hanging over my head, okay? I want this to work out. It’s something that I did a long time ago, but I’m ready to move on from it.” “What did you even do?” Declan sighed, a moment of hesitancy. “It’s a long story.” “Oh okay,” Gwen said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “If it’s too long, then don’t bother. I don’t need to know anything.” Changing back to seriousness: “You don’t just drop a bombshell like murder ''and expect me to just let it slide without explanation.” Declan interrupted, “Alright, alright, I’ll talk. Okay? You happy?” Happy wasn’t the word Gwen would have gone for. Disappointed. Nervous. Confused. Annoyed. She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t have just kept a skeleton like that buried deep in his closet. She couldn’t see any feasible reason why he would admit to something like murder in this context. It just didn’t compute with her. If he had lied about it and never said a word, she’d never know. “Just start talking,” was all Gwen could say at this point. So many thoughts swirling around in her brain, so little time. “My wife was a schoolteacher,” Declan explained. “She was sleeping with one of her students. He was seventeen at the time. She was arrested for it, put in jail. We just had a baby together, too, and she left me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I killed the kid. I tracked him down, beat him to a pulp, but I – I went too far. He wasn’t breathing when I stopped pounding him. I’ve been in jail for a long time. I got put away well over two years ago. Then this crap happened.” He kicked the body of one of the infected that Gwen took down, scoffing, “It was like a little miracle for me, believe it or not. Got me out of jail. Gave me freedom to roam about and do as I please. Now I can make something of myself.” Declan remembered the day he found it all out. It was all replaying in his head, like it just happened yesterday. He was so enraged. As his son screamed and cried, Declan dragged the bed he and his wife slept in together out of the house, down the stairs, and threw it to the curb. He slept on the floor for weeks after that. He couldn’t bear to sleep there, not after hearing about the things she did in their bed... to a kid nonetheless. The feelings came flooding back into Declan’s mind; the feelings of hopelessness, of worthlessness, and of pure embarrassment. His mother knew he was letting himself go, so she took his son home with her. He had nothing left. Nothing. He blamed the kid who slept with his wife. He felt he had nothing to turn to other than his blind rage and hatred for this kid, who was able to walk the streets, talking about how proud he was of landing the hot English teacher. He followed the kid around – his name was James, what kind of cocky kid goes by “James” and not something more casual anyway? – and stalked him until he finally did what he felt he had to do to get him to stop talking, stop bragging, permanently. He shook these feelings off with a visible shake of his head, his eyes looking back up into Gwen’s. Gwen lowered her weapon. She was trying to process all of this. “I’m sorry,” was the first thought –- and also the first words – that came to her. “That’s… that’s rough. But why? Why tell me? Do you really think I’d have ever found out if you hadn’t?” “I’m just looking to fix this,” Declan said, quietly this time. “Not for that kid, because that ship’s long sailed and sank. Not for his family, but for me. I can make a difference on people around me from now on. I can feel good again. That’s why I wanna come with. But I get it if you don’t. That definitely wasn’t how I wanted to do this, but it just—it just happened, it just came out of me. I needed to tell somebody. It’s been eating at me, you know?” Gwen saw nothing but honesty and heart in Declan. She felt a sympathy that she couldn’t quite fathom. ''It doesn’t matter how you say it, she said less than a few minutes ago, and he already managed to prove her wrong. She felt like an idiot for overreacting to him now, for it all made sense in her head now. “None of that matters anymore,” Gwen replied, shaking her head. “Don’t let it dictate your future. I’ve got a city to build that could use an extra pair of hands. You’d be helping people who really need it, people who won’t know or care about any of this. Consider it a blank slate.” Declan looked down, not trying to look her directly in the face. He gave a soft smile, but an oh-so genuine one, as he started to whisper, “Thank you… thank you…” Gwen was never very good at accepting compliments, but she was always a big believer in second chances. If it wasn’t for the second chance she felt she earned by surviving the slaughter in Uganda, she wouldn’t have been here to dream of New Venice, or even be here to pull Declan from this abyss. She hoped that this opportunity would work out. She couldn’t deny being weary of a man whose rage was so unquenchable that he murdered a boy to let it out. But he wanted to repent, and he was still here. That boy wasn’t. No matter what she felt for the kid, there was not a thing she could do for him now. The world turned into a vastly different place, different enough for Gwen to consider this a brand new beginning. They walked back in the direction Gwen came for a few miles, with Gwen describing her vision for the towering heights of New Venice. A city built above, with the streets below flooded. Infected would not be an issue from down there. With how quickly everything occurred, and how turbulent the transition of constant media coverage regarding the infection to radio silence was, there was plenty of understandable confusion. “Even if you flood the streets,” Declan began. “Wouldn’t there still be risk of people turning from up there? You ever seen a zombie movie before?” “Not everyone who dies turns,” Gwen explained. “How do you know though? You’ve had to have seen some sort of zombie movie! I don’t peg you for much of a movie gal, you seem like you have far more important things to do than enjoy a movie…” Gwen was starting to take note of this guy’s grim sense of humor. She responded with a smirk. Not because it was funny, it’s because of how accurate his assumption really was. “…but the concept is pretty universally understood, right? Anyone dies, they turn into one of these things.” “Then they’re not zombies,” Gwen stated simply. “A man in our community had a heart attack. Someone else told me about the zombie thing, and as ridiculous as the idea of a zombie apocalypse is, I couldn’t deny the similarities. So we sat by him, and we waited. Nothing happened. Two full days went by, until we finally buried him. He never climbed out. Dead is dead, friend. And there’s also one other big fundamental difference—“ Gwen yanked down her long-sleeved jacket sleeve, revealing her forearm. On it, a healing scar resembling a bite mark in the shape and size of a human mouth, probably an adult male. “–If this were a zombie movie, I’d be one of them already. It’s been two weeks.” “What?” Declan asked, the dumbfounded look on his face priceless. “How is that even…?” “One of them bit me, Declan,” she explained. “Two weeks ago. Guess we both had secrets to get off our chests, huh?” “Have you felt sick? At all? It takes a while for it to kick in for some people…But I’ve never seen it for two weeks or longer.” “I was sick at first. Nauseous, fever, all of the typical symptoms. But then they disappeared about two days into it, and I’ve been fine since…” “Maybe your blood is… special or something,” Declan said, he seemed to be enjoying this. “And maybe you just watch too many movies,” Gwen scoffed. “Think of it this way, Declan: This is an epidemic right? Nothing more than some sort of new illness. Maybe the transformation of something we already fought off. If this epidemic only spread through the bites, do you really think there’s any way it would have been able to spread so quickly? I think it’s like the flu, spread through the air. But it also spreads through bodily fluids, through a bite, through a… I don’t know. I’ve just been careful to not get much blood splatter on me. I don’t want to take the chance of swallowing any, or having it mix into an open wound. But now with this bite, I think it’s more obvious to me than before that I’m onto something here.” “You get bit and it doesn’t mean instant infection. What does our body do when faced with a foreign invader? It fights it. Maybe some of us just get lucky. That’s all it is. Darwinism, baby. Survival of the fittest. I’m just stronger than the unlucky bastards who are trying to eat us.” “Sometimes don’t you wonder who’s really the unlucky one?” Declan asked. Sometimes she did. Especially in these conditions, she knew it to be natural to question whether or not surviving out in this world was worth it. But every single time, she came to the same conclusion – The one who was still in control, the one who could still maintain motor skills and basic communication. The one who can still feel. That’s the lucky one. Category:Epiphany Category:Issues Category:Epiphany Issues